


Puppy Love

by Velocipastor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sam gets a puppy, a cute little puppy, written for brothersintheimpala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:25:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocipastor/pseuds/Velocipastor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam finds a puppy and brings him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puppy Love

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for brothersintheimpala on Tumblr after her dog passed. I've written my dog into a fic before after she passed a few years ago, and felt surprisingly better for it. I hope this does the same. <3

Sam zipped up his pants at the side of the road. Maybe the last two complimentary coffees he’d had at the library were two too many; he thought he would’ve had time to make it back to the motel before needing to pee, but apparently not so. It was such a Dean thing to do, peeing out in the open like that. He’d had to snicker at himself as he pulled the Impala over on the empty stretch of back-country asphalt.

It was just the end of September. Warm weather was clinging on threadbare fingers, but the scheduled fall weather was closing in quickly. There were already gentle layers of frost in the early morning; nothing too bad—yet—but it was a clear sign for a bitch of a winter. It was lucky the bunker was underground and didn’t change temperature much.

Sam leaned against the passenger side door and gazed out across the field that met up to a sparse forest about a hundred yards away with changing leaves. The different shades were fascinating, in a way: pale pastels of red and yellow, gold, deep scarlet, and those that were still valiantly holding onto their green. It was nice to stop for thirty seconds and enjoy the scenery. He could already hear Dean in his head, asking why he was being such a little girl about nature, and then demanding apple pie since it was in season. He grinned at the thought of apple pie-flavored kisses with a hint of gratitude underneath. Not cake—God only knew Sam would never make that particular mistake again, what with how long Dean had pouted at him and snarked with passive aggressive words for a damn week. He let out a small chuckle with a shake of his head and a fond smile, then brushed his hair back behind his ears.

The dying grass rustled a few feet over to his left at the sound. Sam glanced over inquisitively; it was too small to be anything of any danger (unless it was a possum, those bitches were nasty). It wasn’t a rabbit or a squirrel, clearly, as the rustling headed towards him with bouncy, curious movements. Interest piqued, Sam bent to one knee and leaned forward slightly. A tiny, high-pitched bark clued him into the fact it was either a fox kit or a puppy, and Sam grinned hugely. He reached into the grass carefully and pulled a small beagle boy from the tangle of vegetation.

Big brown eyes peered at him with the utmost curiosity and showed no fear as the puppy licked his tiny black nose. His muzzle was a pure white, dotted brown in a couple places, with a white stripe up to the top of his head. Floppy ears were mostly brown, darkened to black at the middle of them. His stubby little puppy legs and warm belly were white, as was the chest huffing with each sniff. The black on his sides faded to brown on his back and neck. Sam was amused to notice the blur that was his wagging tail was half white, half brown. The puppy craned his head forward and sniffed at Sam’s hands excitedly.

Sam was in love before he even realized it.

“Hey, little guy! What’re you doing all the way out here by your lonesome, huh?” he asked playfully, voice lilting higher. The puppy barked quietly in response. “You dunno either? Well, you got a family?” Sam asked—nonsensically, he knew, but whatever—as he pulled the bundle of fur to his chest to look him over. The little guy was dirty with no collar, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He tried to squash the hope trying to rise in his chest. Really, with him and Dean staying in the bunker, there was no reason to not have a dog. It could actually be entirely beneficial from a hunting standpoint; beagles were smart little hunters, loud if they needed to be—say, somebody (something) was in the bunker that shouldn’t have been, he could bark and howl and make all kinds of noise to alert—and Sam didn’t even realize he was already forming reasonable objections to each and every argument Dean could’ve possibly made.

No dogs in the Impala? Well, Sam didn’t really need to have his jacket on, the puppy could easily sit on it in the passenger seat without getting Baby’s interior all dirty.

“Come on, boy! You wanna come home with me? Huh?” Sam asked excitedly. The little beagle responded to his tone with a spastic wiggle and thwacks of his tail every time it hit Sam’s side. He laughed and hugged him just a little closer as he opened the passenger door.

—

Dean looked up with a smile as the engine to the Impala cut off. He opened his mouth to speak as the top door opened, but he sniffed enthusiastically instead. There was a sweet fragrance—cinnamon, sugary, fresh tang of apples—?

“Did you bring me pie?!” he yelled excitedly. The answering laugh told him what he needed to know, and he jumped out of the chair and practically bounced up the stairs to Sam. He grabbed the warm cardboard box (pie fresh from the oven?!) out of his large hands and tilted his head up to give Sam a quick kiss. Sam wrapped one arm around his waist with another laugh and kissed him back, but when Dean pressed closer, something made a noise and wriggled against his chest. He almost dropped the pie in shock and jumped backwards.

“Sammy…” he started, watching a guilty look spread over Sam’s face, “what is that?”

“…a puppy…” Sam answered hesitantly. The beagle’s little face popped out of Sam’s jacket with a shake of his head, ears flopping, before snuffling the air towards Dean. Suddenly, the man was faced with two sets of puppy eyes.

“A pup—“

“Come on, Dean, it’s perfect. Dogs always know when something paranormal is going on, he can alert us to it before anything happens. He can be trained. Beagles are an intelligent breed. I know you’d love him if you gave him a chance, I already love him, and—“

“Where’d you find him, Sam?” Dean interrupted as soon as his brother took a breath. Sam let it out again in a huff. No, it didn’t matter that he was a thirty year old man, he let it out in a huff.

“I pissed at the side of the road a few miles back. He came up to me.” he answered.

“Sam, he could have fleas!” Dean groaned—a tad theatrically, Sam thought—and backed away. “Fleas!”

“So?” Sam countered defensively. “They make treatments for it. You used to sing along with the dog on the Advantix commercial all the time!”

“Fleas!”

“Can be treated, Dean!”

“Food!”

“Can be bought! The little old lady at the grocery store loves us, anyways, imagine how she’d be if we showed up with a puppy!”

“Toys!”

“Can be bought. The little old lady. At the grocery store. Loves us. Imagine. How she’d be. If we showed up. With. A. Puppy!”

Dean made a face at Sam and crossed his arms. “He’s gotta be potty-trained, or he’ll shit all over the damn place! I just cleaned our library, Sam, I’m not cleaning up after a puppy!”

“Yeah, it’s hard enough cleaning up after yourself.” Sam snarked irately. The beagle barked in what he presumed was agreement.

“Quiet, you!” Dean ordered.

“Don’t talk to him like that!”

“Wha—Sam! Does he even have a name?”

“No!” Sam snapped, then visibly deflated. “I… I wanted you to name him.” His voice had gotten soft again as he looked down at the little puppy, no more than nine weeks old, gently scratching the white line between his eyes.

Oh, dammit, Sammy, Dean thought exasperatedly. Two sets of puppy eyes—one a deep, friendly brown, the other a wonderful kaleidoscope of colors he often got lost in, no matter how utterly corny that was—kept glancing at him beseechingly. He felt like they were kids again, which was ridiculous; two grown hunters in their thirties having a child-like argument over a puppy.

…well, the little shit was pretty cute. He kept looking back and forth between Sam and Dean, obviously sensing the tension from Sam, and the final, hopeful wag of his tail was it.

Dean sighed dramatically and threw his arms up. “His name’s Rudy.”

The blinding way Sam beamed at him made up for the way he had to clean up poop hidden behind a chair in the library two hours later.

—

“Quit bitin’ your leash, Rudy.” Dean admonished absently as the puppy gnawed on the black length of cord. It was about two weeks later. Rudy was stretched out on his belly with the leash trapped between his paws and sharp little teeth, but he looked up at Dean’s words and wagged his tail. Dean smiled and sat down next to him, laughing when Rudy climbed right into his lap and snuggled in like it was where he belonged.

“Awwwh, Dean, I knew you’d love him.” Sam remarked from the doorway of the bedroom. Dean shot him a look as he walked in and lay out on the bed contentedly. “Told you so.”

“Shut up, Sasquatch. Kevin loves him too.”

“Crowley said he was gonna eat him if he bit his ankle again. I told him I’d cut his nuts off.” Sam smiled.

“Well jeez, Sam! Protective daddy, much?” Dean teased, but ended up making an indignant noise as Sam waggled his eyebrows and called him the mommy. Rudy barked and tilted his head up to lick the bottom of Dean’s chin enthusiastically.

“Our lovechild loves me more.” Dean said contently. Sam burst into hysterical laughter at “lovechild” and ended up rolling off the bed, clutching his stomach and howling. Dean began yelling at him, mockingly offended, and Rudy couldn’t stop barking and jumping on Sam.

—

When the two Winchester brothers sleep at night, they’ll be curled up on Dean’s bed. Dean puts up a token protest at spooning, Sam always the big spoon because of his octopus-cuddling, but Sam chuckles sleepily and nuzzles the back of his neck with a fond, “Shut up, Dean.” Rudy sleeps somewhere on the bed—curled up on one of them, at their sides, their feet, or even on Sam’s head—and wakes them up in the morning for pee and coffee. Dean makes the coffee and breakfast while Sam takes a regular morning run, Rudy in excited tow.

When Rudy’s about a year old, he potentially saves their lives in the middle of the night while they’re on a hunt. He wakes them up with fierce, snarling barks he’s never made before. When Dean and Sam set the wendigo on fire and toast hot dogs and marshmallows over it, Sam looks over at Dean with a smirk, both of them scratching Rudy and feeding him hot dogs.

“Told you so.” he says. Dean looks at him blankly for a moment, then throws a marshmallow at him. Rudy stretches out and watches them, tail wagging.

FIN


End file.
